


Rain

by Just_Rocket_Science



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Background Plot, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Melkor can be a sweetheart when he wants, Modern AU, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, Seduction of mairon 2.0, Self Harm, Slice of Life, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, actually, amnesia kind of, aule and yavanna are his parents, genderfluid ainur, inspired by similar fics except mairon is younger and more of a mess, mai is 18, more tws in chapter beghinings those were just the biggest ones, past abusive relationships, the valar are a lot meaner than they probably should be in canon, trans mairon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Rocket_Science/pseuds/Just_Rocket_Science
Summary: "You don't think I'm real, do you?"
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48





	1. Rain

The night was cold and wet. Rain dripped down his hair, seeping through his clothes, the coolness soaking into his bones until he couldn’t help but shiver. He ran a hand through his hair. It was going to take ages to dry. Perhaps he should just cut it. But his Master would never allow that. He leaned sideways against the chain that held up the swing he was sitting on. The metal dug into his skin. It was colder than he had expected, and he flinched, though he didn’t move away. The metal was ice, flooding his veins with an almost addicting chill. He drew his knees up to his chest, careful not to tip the swing over. The fact that they didn’t touch the dirt ground and merely dangled above it was a bit of a sore spot for him. He took a deep, shuddering breath. God, why was it so cold. He could feel water trickling in streams across his skin. It dripped from his eyelashes, obscuring his vision. His Master had better get here soon. If not he might have to make a decision between his Master’s annoyance versus pneumonia. He closed his eyes, letting his mind empty of any such thoughts. No, he was being dramatic. It wasn’t like he would get pneumonia from a little rain. Probably. The sound of water droplets hitting the ground was pleasant to listen to, anyway. It stilled his racing heart, calmed his shivering hands, a soft blanket of haziness that blurred the pain. He licked sweet rainwater from his lips. Yes, he could wait a little longer. He could wait however long was necessary. He could wait forever, if it was needed.

The sound of a car engine woke him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes. Yellow headlights cut through the night, reflected from thousands of raindrops, little droplets of light that were ever moving. The night was dark, and the mist of water that hung in the air didn’t help, but he could just about make out that the car was grey. Not his Master, then. He closed his eyes again, letting his head rest against the metal chain. The cold stroked delicate fingers along his skull. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Not really, not once you got used to it. He was dimly aware of someone shouting his name. The car engine had stopped. He opened his eyes, not moving from his position. The rain dripped into his irises. He couldn’t see properly. He lifted his head, a certain stiffness in his neck mewling in annoyance at the motion. His soaked hair stuck to his skin. That voice was familiar.

“Mairon!” He liked the night. There was a certain dreamlike quality to everything, a feeling of lack of consequences, like he could do whatever he wanted and he wouldn’t have to face the barrage of guilt that came afterwards. He let his legs dangle down once more, one hand on the chain to steady himself. The skin of his palm burned with the cold. He eased himself down, but didn’t walk further, still grasping the chain tight. He didn’t want to let go of that iciness just yet. It was something, a feeling, in the middle of this dizzying world. They called his name again. “Mairon! Oh, thank god. Come here!” He didn’t move. The rain felt like tears trickling from his eyes. He wiped them away with his free hand, though he knew that more would come. Their voices became more urgent now, cutting through the peaceful sounds of raindrops. “Mairon! Come!” He sighed softly, and let go of the chain. The world enveloped him. He felt sick. Everything spun, and he could feel his brain in his skull, but he couldn’t touch it and for some reason that made nausea rush through him. He wished that his Master was here. “Mairon.” Why did they keep saying his name? He was coming. He was walking towards them. They didn’t need to be so loud, they didn’t need to make the sickness worse. He cast a longing glance in the direction his Master usually came from. Darkness interspersed with glittering droplets of rain stared back at him. Warm hands were draping a coat over his shoulders. That wouldn’t help. The cold would be trapped against his skin now. The same hands pushed him gently into the back of the car, and closed the door behind him. The leather of the seats was warm. He was dripping water all over them, his wet clothes sticking uncomfortably against them every time he moved. The smell of the car only made him more nauseous, but it was that horrible kind of nausea where he wasn’t sick enough to vomit so that he could feel better afterwards. It was the kind you simply had to live with. He pressed his cheek up against the car window. The glass was fogged up, so he couldn’t see anything, but the cold eased the dizziness a little, bringing him a little closer to reality instead of this horrible haze that clouded his mind. He closed his eyes, whimpering softly. He knew that he couldn’t be heard over the sound of the car engine. They were talking. She was talking. She was only one person, and she smelled of earth and flowers and forest. Yavanna, he thought dimly.

Mairon lifted his head, blinking away rain from his eyes. One hand was still pressed up against the window. There was a glassiness to his eyes that told Yavanna that he hadn’t heard a single word she’d said. She sighed, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel. 

“Mairon, honey, can you hear me?” He frowned, and nodded. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” He shook his head. His lack of words was beginning to get a little concerning, but then again he’d always been like that. Concerning. Whether it was pulling a knife out at school, or setting the poor dog on fire, he had a tendency to concern people. Yavanna sighed again, massaging her temples with one hand. She was doing her best not to get frustrated with him. That never worked; he would just snap back at her and any hope of an explanation would be lost. “Honey, can you say something for me? What were you doing there?” For a moment she didn’t think that he would reply, but then he did.

“Waiting,” he said.

“Waiting for what?”

“Someone.” God, he was difficult. But she would have to remain calm. He had done worse before. This was nothing.

“Who?” He shook his head, resting his cheek against the window again. He appeared to be looking outside, though she was certain that he couldn’t see through the fogged up windows. Ok, so he wasn’t about to tell her that. It was fine. Probably just some person he had conjured up in his mind. Or… well, she knew the alternative of who he might have been seeing. And she dared not even entertain that particular thought. It was impossible. She ignored her tightening grip on the steering wheel. “You shouldn’t have been out at night. There are people who could have tried to hurt you.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” He said, but the words had no meaning behind them. 

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

“Because he wants me to.” He closed his eyes, and Yavanna knew that the conversation was over. She shook her head sadly. The rest of the drive took place in silence.


	2. History 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it seems as though you guys are interested in this after all xD  
> This is the first proper chapter of this fic, a little summary of how they got to this point

His Master smelled of acrid metal and blood. It should have made Mairon feel sick. It didn’t. He was safe here. The floating, dizzy sensation that he could never usually shake free was gone, replaced by a gentle comfort that pooled warmly in his veins. He was comfortable. The mattress of the bed under him was not soft, exactly, but delightfully springy. A rather more immature part of him, perhaps the aspect of his mind that had adapted to this painfully young body, wondered what it would be like to jump on it. He doubted that the bed would break. The frame was black metal, cool against his feet that were pressed up against it. Everything in this room was black metal. Except for the walls; those were just plain black wallpaper. The ceiling was tall, and draped in darkness, the only light coming from a candle set on the bedside table. He could see its light reflected off of the glittering iron of chains that hung down from the ceiling. Some of them were bloody. Somehow, it did not bother him much. Other than that, and the bedside table, the room was bare but for the occasional scratches in the wallpaper. Mairon had never been one to pay attention to his surroundings; his vision tended to blur, as though he were walking in a dream, reducing him to only the numbness that dwelled in his mind. He had tried getting contacts. They hadn’t done much except worsen his migraines, so he had taken them out. They lay abandoned in the bathroom cabinet now, alongside the schizophrenia medication that had been prescribed to him. He didn’t have schizophrenia. He hoped so, at least. The medication had just made him feel nauseous. He didn’t feel nauseous now. His vision was in sharp clarity, the contents of this room sparking a mild curiosity within him. Was this how everything was supposed to be? No thrumming pulse in his head, no faintness, none of that horrid numbness made him feel dizzy, that made him not care when he was hurt. He buried his face in his Master’s dark hair, his heart feeling marvellously light. Ever since he had been five, he couldn’t remember feeling much of anything. He would see things, rodent-like shadows, at the edges of his vision. Fire did strange things around him. He would be looking at a match, and see faces of people who felt vaguely familiar in the flames. The dog bit him once, and suddenly it was on fire, with a nine year old Mairon running after it screaming for someone to get help. The dog ended up surviving. It had been a close call, though. Sometimes he wanted to touch the fire. Sometimes the compulsion got too much, and he did it. He first set himself on fire when he was thirteen, desperate to feel the flames against his skin. The burn marks still covered his arm, albeit faded by now, and he knew that he should’ve felt bad, but god the heat had felt good. So he did it again next year. That was when he had first met his Master, watching him curiously in the ER. A tall man, perhaps over six, nigh seven feet, with long, messy black hair and icy eyes. He disappeared the moment Mairon’s gaze left him for a second. And suddenly the so-called hallucinations and nightmares had gotten so, so much worse. He would wake up convinced he was drowning, despite the fact that they didn’t even live near a lake, let alone a sea. And there was this dog, who would tear him open bit by bit while he begged for mercy. Eventually he had stopped sleeping all together, other than where he couldn’t bear it anymore and his eyelids drooped shut, only for him to jolt upright, once more gripped with terror. Then there were the people. Or, hallucinations, as Aule and Yavanna insisted they were. Mairon had believed them at first. These people seemed to know him; some of them would stare at him with hatred, spit at his feet. Others gripped his hand warmly, told jokes, offered to buy him a coffee. They seemed random at first. Then Mairon got better at telling which of the strangers on the street might abruptly turn around and either wink or sneer at him. By the time he was sixteen, he could almost always spot them. Most of them had long hair, or wore piercings, and the friendlier ones tended to dress almost all in black. But they all had an uncanny light in their eyes. He never saw any of them more than once, and when he chased after them, they would disappear into a crowd, leaving Mairon alone. He had told Aule and Yavanna, and though he could not quite remember what had happened next, he was fairly certain that a doctor had been involved. Whatever they had done, it didn’t do much to help. By the time he was seventeen, he was a wreck, always trembling from too much caffeine and too little sleep, thin and drawn, throwing himself into his school studies with some sort of resigned hope that if he did well academically, everything else would improve as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt anything other than this drugged vagueness. Aule and Yavanna wouldn’t let him anywhere near fire, or any sort of blade, for fear of what he might do. He wasn’t allowed to stay out past five, or talk to anyone, and they whispered between them when they thought he couldn’t hear, shooting him worried glances. He didn’t care much at this point. He just wanted this to be over. He would stare out of his window (locked and covered with a wire mesh, because of course it was), digging his nails into his palms, trying not to fall asleep. Then he met his Master. Properly, this time. It was in that same park, and while he most certainly was not permitted to be out at night, it was a rainy, overcast day, and thus the effect was pretty much the same. He had thought Melkor to be one of those strangers again, except the man actually approached him for longer than to simply buy him coffee.  
“You busy?” He had asked. Mairon had shaken his head. It was the weekend, and he had been permitted to go for a quick walk. “Good. May I join you?” Aule and Yavanna always warned him about strangers. He guessed that most peoples’ parents did. But at the time he had guessed Melkor to be another one of the people who seemed to know him, those that he thought were hallucinations. And where was the harm in walking with a stranger if they weren’t real, anyway? “It’s been a pain, having to wait ‘till you were eighteen,'' Melkor had complained, kicking at a stray pebble. He had been wearing steel toed boots, and at the contact with the stone, a loud clang echoed out. Mairon’s sleep deprived brain winced. He frowned.   
“I’m not eighteen.”  
“Yea, I know. I got sick of waiting.” They walked in amiable silence for a while. Melkor eventually spoke up again. “You don’t think I’m real, do you?”  
“No. I don’t think so.”  
“You can go ask someone if you want.” There were a few other people mulling about in the park. Mairon walked up to the nearest one, a middle-aged lady with an overzealous perm and pink sunglasses that had no place in November. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his oversized coat, letting out a shaky breath that was visible in the cold.  
“Excuse me? Ma’am?” She looked him up and down with a wrinkled nose.  
“What?” With long hair, black clothes, and an almost ghostly, malnourished look to him, most people responded to Mairon with disdain. He didn’t mind much. His worldview was blurry. None of these people seemed real. His voice trembled.  
“Could you answer a strange question? Is there a guy with dark hair behind me?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Melkor wave at her.  
“Yes,” She said, peering over at him with a frown, before glancing back at Mairon with an unease in her eyes. She turned away, tugging her remarkably tasteless cheetah print, furry trench coat close. “ _Fucking weirdo_ ,” Mairon heard her mutter under her breath. He faced Melkor once again, a certain unease welling up in his stomach. It was perhaps the first thing he had felt in a long time, though he didn’t notice at the time. “Alright. You’re real. What do you want?” * _And why were you waiting until I was eighteen*_ , he thought to himself. Melkor stepped towards him, and he flinched backwards, whether at the peculiar fear racing through him or at Melkor’s movement, he wasn’t sure.  
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything to you.” He opened his palms in the universal gesture for surrender. “I just want to talk.”  
“Then talk. How do you know me?”  
“Do you remember me? I was at the ER- you were like what, twelve? Thirteen?” Mairon shifted his feet, beginning to walk once more. He disliked standing still. Especially in this cold.  
“I think… I do remember you. I thought you were a hallucination like all the other strangers.” Melkor shook his head.  
“Oh, them? They’re real. I don’t know what bullshit they told you, but you’re not going crazy. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to bring anymore attention to you when you were so young.” In his heart, Mairon knew that the other man was right. The thought of those people, of the strange shadows, of the fire, being hallucinations? That had never really sat well with him. And the fact that he suddenly didn’t feel quite so numb now, after all these years…  
“Real? How?” Melkor’s eyes glittered with that queer light.  
“Do you ever have memories? Or dreams that feel like memories? But you know that these memories aren’t yours, and you don’t know how they could ever have gotten in your mind.” Mairon’s steps faltered. He kept his eyes trained on the ground, trying to hide inside his coat to escape from the cold.  
“Yea. I do,” He said quietly.  
“What if I told you that those were real? That you haven’t always been… like this.” Mairon stopped walking.  
“I’d tell you that you were crazy.”  
“Are you sure?” There was a certain plea in Melkor’s voice, and he took Mairon’s hand, interlocking the younger man’s cold, thin fingers with his own. “Please, precious. Try to remember. I promise you don’t have to live in this numbness anymore.” Perhaps it was that easy term of endearment that did it. The world around him had come into sharper focus now. He closed his eyes. Something about what Melkor was saying felt so _real_ , so comforting after the hopelessness of his current life.   
“I… there was… a fortress. A ring? You. You were there. We were…” His eyes snapped open, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. He sighed softly. “I don’t know. They could just be daydreams… it’s all fragmented. Not solid memories. I just- I don’t know,” he repeated. Melkor looked at him curiously.  
"You do know. You know it's real." He stepped close to Mairon, cupping the younger man's face in his hand. "I know they told you that you were crazy. Hell, I bet it feels like you're going crazy. But I promise you're not. Do you really think you "accidentally" set a dog on fire when you were just nine, with no fire in sight? What nine year old could do that?"  
"A sick one," Mairon muttered, pulling away from Melkor's touch with a twinge of discomfort.  
"But how could a nine year old be sick like that? You didn't have any childhood trauma, no big event that fucked you up. What other explanation is there?"  
"It happens, y'know. Kids are born with fucked up minds. Maybe I was one of them."  
"Do you really believe that? And if you do, then how on earth do you think I know you?" His tone was pained, pitying, almost. Mairon hesitated.  
"I don't know," he said softly.   
"Please. You don't need to continue like this. And you know that you already feel better, don't you? It's because you belong with me," he said, the last part perhaps a little more forceful than necessary. Mairon took a step back. His heart pounded in a way that he was unaccustomed to. Was this fear, or happiness, or excitement? Perhaps a mix of all three. All he knew was that he was feeling _something_. And that was enough proof for him.  
"What do you want," He asked quietly.  
"You," Melkor replied with a grin. "I know this must all feel like getting slapped in the face. Think about it, alright? Meet me here next week, same time. Give me your answer. But don’t tell anyone about me."  
"My answer to what?"  
"Would you be interested in working with me?" Melkor asked, and rather abruptly pressed their lips together. Mairon jumped in surprise, instinctively closing his eyes, and when he opened them again Melkor was gone. He was alone on the desolate street. The air felt colder than before. He could feel the world about him fading away once more, the feeling similar to radio static seeping back into his mind. He hadn’t even noticed how clear his thoughts had felt for those few minutes that he had been walking beside Melkor. Now that the clarity was gone, it was gut-wrenchingly noticeable. He tilted his head down, burying his face in the fluff of his coat in an attempt to escape the nipping of the chilly air. Had his mind been less foggy, he might have wondered what the fuck had just happened. But as it was, he simply sighed, and began the trek back home. He was getting worse. His mind was falling apart, and at this point, he did not even care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea I know I didn't the special characters to Aule's name. What can I say, I am extremely lazy :)


	3. History 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible TW for super brief mention of underage sex? Also Mairon's not great at self-care

That week the nightmares were the worst they’d ever been. Teeth, tearing at his neck, drowning, a gently smiling face washed in blood, and, perhaps most memorably, three lights that burned in his mind, searing through his retinas everytime he looked at them. He could not seem to tear his eyes away, no matter the pain. When he arrived at the park again next week, he was trembling worse than ever. Melkor was standing in the corner, his eyes lazily scanning his surroundings. Mairon strode up to him.  
“Can you make them stop?” He asked with a forceful bluntness to his voice.  
“What?”  
“The nightmares. Can you make them stop?”  
“Yes. Well, maybe not stop, but I can help.”  
“Then I accept your offer.” Melkor raised an eyebrow at him.  
“I must admit, I was expecting you to put up rather more resistance than that. Do you think I’m right?”  
“I… I’m still not so sure. But you’re real, and you know me even though I’ve never met you before, so… and I can’t deny that I feel… better… around you.” Even now, he could see his vision sharpening, could feel annoyance at the people glancing at them, could feel excitement at the prospect of finally getting a full night’s, dreamless sleep. Melkor smiled softly.  
“Alright. Come with me. How much time do you have?” He began walking, his long legs making it rather difficult for Mairon to keep up. The younger man glanced at his watch.  
“I have to be home before five. So, a few hours?”  
“That should be just fine.”   
Melkor taught him things. Things like how to break someone's neck, how to read a strange language that he called the black speech, the history of a world that seemed almost frustratingly familiar to Mairon. All these things did, actually. They invoked a sense of nostalgia in him. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite place why everything seemed so familiar, why he knew some of the words Melkor taught him even though he’d never heard this language before. As time passed, he became more and more certain that this was real. Some of the strangers stopped to have conversations with him. He saw other people staring curiously at them, simply confirming Melkor’s insistence that they weren’t hallucinations. One of them was a young woman, with curly, ebony brown hair and dark eyes. Her canine teeth were sharper than seemed natural. Mairon had seen her before. This was the first time he’d seen one of the strangers more than a single time. She did not give her name, but bought Mairon a textbook on blood that she claimed would help him study. When he skimmed through it, he had to admit that it seemed fairly useful. She disappeared before he could thank her. The nightmares did not stop, though they never got quite as bad as that one week again. When he complained to Melkor about it, the older man simply smiled and told him to be patient. One thing that Mairon did see a change in was his memories. They got sharper, more distinct, until he could almost remember singular events. The fuzziness and unfeeling of his mind didn’t improve much, other than when he was at Melkor’s side, but it was far better than nothing.

To his credit, Melkor did wait until Mairon was eighteen to touch him, with the exception of that one time when they had first met. Which, now that he knew his Master better, Mairon thought was a rather uncharacteristic display of self restraint. On the night of his eighteenth birthday Melkor had climbed up his wall, melting the glass and metal of his window with a light touch. At Mairon’s questioning look, he grinned.  
“Have you ever dated anyone, precious?” Mairon frowned.  
“What does that have to do with anything?” He asked, although he could guess exactly why his Master was asking. He had gotten back enough flashes of his memories back at this point to know, and honestly? He wanted it. He had wanted it since he had first seen Melkor and those memories had resurfaced in his mind. He swallowed anxiously, fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket.  
“Oh c’mon, just answer it.”  
“No. I can’t say I have.”  
“Really?”  
“Yea. I have had sex, though.” It hadn’t really meant much to him. He had been fourteen and frustrated, she had been sixteen and looking for someone to manipulate with those elegant, diamond ring covered fingers of hers. It hadn’t quite turned out the way she had intended. He had ended up stealing her wallet. The lighter he had secretly bought with the money inside still sat in his pocket, the scalding heat of its flame against his fingertips his only comfort for many a sleepless night.  
“Interesting.” Melkor tilted his head, an almost predatory light glittering in his eyes. Then he blinked, and it was gone, leaving Mairon feeling oddly breathless.

After that first time, they had taken to sleeping together whenever they could. Not always sex. Just… sleep. Mairon found it significantly lessened his nightmares, to the point where he actually woke up feeling refreshed, and Melkor… well, Melkor had his own reasons for doing everything he did.

And that’s how, three months after his eighteenth birthday, Mairon found himself here. Tangled up in his Master’s arms, watching the wax of the candle slowly drip down the ebony candelabrum, wondering how he was ever going to bring himself to leave this warm clarity to go back to the haze of his day to day life. He sighed. The watch he had forgotten to take off while going to bed read five am. He had about an hour before his parents woke up. This house was chilly, and he felt his hairs stand on end the moment he slipped out from under the pile of blankets his Master had thrown over him. His Master opened his eyes, tilting his head sleepily.  
“Whatcha doing?” He asked, stifling a yawn. Mairon smiled fondly at him.  
“It’s five. I’ve got to go.” His Master sat up, and pressed a kiss to the younger man’s forehead.  
“Already?” He stretched, blinking weariness from his eyes. Mairon nodded.  
“Yea. Sorry. I… I don’t think I can come tonight. I have a test tomorrow and I’ve really got to revise.” His Master hummed noncommittally. He twined his fingers through Mairon’s hair in a rather possessive manner that made the younger man shiver with delight.  
“It would do you better to get a proper night's sleep before a test. Besides, you could always revise here. I could help you.”  
“Oh, please. What do you know about french?”  
“Alright, maybe I can’t help,” His Master admitted, “But you could still bring your books and stuff over here.” Mairon pondered this. It was… tempting. But he had been out every night so far this week, and the more often he came here, the higher his chance of getting caught. He trembled nervously.  
“I… I don’t know. I think Aule and Yavanna are onto me, too. They found my old lighter.”  
“Ah. But you don’t need it anymore, do you? You have me now.”  
“I suppose so.” It made him uneasy, the hole in his pocket where the lighter should’ve been. He dug his nails into his arm. His Master tugged his hand away, stroking the inside of his wrist with a thumb.  
“Don’t worry, precious. You’ll be fine.” He said quietly. “Now, come, I can get Mouse to make us breakfast.” Mairon shook his head.  
“It’s fine. I’m not that hungry.” His Master kissed him, stepping off of the bed and dragging the younger man along with him. Mairon sighed again, but didn’t protest.  
“Hush, don’t get like that now. You’ll drive Mouse out of their job with your insistence to starve yourself to death.”  
“I’m not trying to starve myself to death. I’m just not hungry in the mornings.” His Master raised an eyebrow.  
“Or, like, ever.” He pulled Mairon closer to him, pressing chaste kisses against the younger man’s neck. “Come on, precious. Don’t do this.” Mairon shook his head, smiling softly.  
“Mhm. Alright. Fine. Only because you’re making me, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that I've never written anything remotely like this before, so any advice is appreciated! <3


	4. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely got the idea for Mouse from Lairenuriel, go check them out!

Mouse liked to hide in his bag whenever Mairon left. His Master didn’t mind much, because they weren’t the only creature in the house who could cook, and because it helped Mairon to have something small and furry to pet whenever he got anxious. The little rodent liked to sit on his shoulder, grooming themselves with their tiny paws. No one else seemed to notice them. In the back of Mairon’s mind, there was always that nagging insistence that they were simply another hallucination, that all of this was a delusion created by his struggling mind trying to hold its broken pieces together. But then he would always think back to the lady in the park who had called him a weido. She had seen Melkor. And so had the bartender he had bought Mairon a coffee from, or the people in the streets who stared at him for his rather… eccentric… fashion sense. No, this was real. Mairon scratched Mouse behind the ears, and they twitched their nose in satisfaction. Whenever the world around him blurred out, they always seemed delightfully real, scritching gently at his shoulder in their constant search for attention. Climbing back up into his room was always an experience. Melkor had Sung to his window so that, even though it appeared solid to everyone else, the glass would part like water for him and Mairon. And under the thick layers of rose bushes that adorned the plain white walls of the house, there lay a ladder. It was completely concealed. You had to reach through knots of vines and thorns to reach its cold, metal rungs, and Mairon’s hands were always covered in little cuts from this. He didn’t mind. He didn’t feel it, anyway, at least until he reached his Master’s house and his brain began working properly again, at which point he was too preoccupied with whatever they were doing that day to notice the pain. Sometimes even being close to Melkor wouldn’t help. Some days the numbness was so bad that nothing helped, and on those days his Master would hold him while he trembled, and stroke his hair, and eventually it would pass. The thought of those days suddenly increasing in number filled Mairon with dread. To his relief, they were usually few and far between. A knock at his door startled him, and he flinched, making Mouse chirp curiously. He pet their head. Yavanna poked her head out from behind the door, watching him pet apparently thin air with a concerned expression.  
“Hey, sweetie. You up?” Mairon nodded. “What you got there?” He held Mouse up for her, though he knew that she couldn’t see them.   
“Mouse,” he mumbled, not looking her in the eye.  
“Mouse? Oh sweetie. That… that isn’t real, you know that, right? It’s alright, I know it can be hard to tell sometimes.” Mouse squealed in annoyance, and Mairon hugged them close, stroking their soft fur.  
“Sorry,” he said softly.  
“It’s alright. Are you coming down for breakfast?”  
“Already ate.”  
“Before I woke up?” He nodded. “What did you eat?”  
“Oatmeal. With fruits.” Mouse chirped excitedly at the mention of food, wriggling in Mairon’s grip.  
“Oatmeal? I don’t recall there being any oatmeal in the house… are you sure that’s what you had?” She frowned at Mairon when he nodded.  
“Alright… do you want to have a second breakfast anyway? Just in case it wasn’t… real…” She faltered at Mairon’s frown. “Well, I suppose if you’re not hungry… Pack your stuff for school, ok? The bus comes in thirty minutes.”  
She gave him a kiss on the cheek as he stepped out of the door, ruffling his hair fondly. “Love you, sweetie. Take care.”  
“Love you too,” he said quietly, pulling his bag up onto his shoulder. Mouse squeaked on his shoulder, jumping to avoid being crushed by the shoulder strap. The rodent clambered up Mairon’s head instead, sitting buried in his hair, their nose quivering in satisfaction. He waved Yavanna goodbye.

-

The day was gone. He couldn’t remember any of it, only vague glimpses of whatever had been taught, and that only in random bursts of information in his mind that seemed as though they had appeared out of nowhere. This wasn’t an uncommon experience for him, but it left him feeling rather shaken. He was terrified that he would close his eyes and suddenly be at the end of his life with no idea what had happened in between. Mouse chirped at him. He lay down, burying his face in their fur, trembling. They touched their nose gently against his forehead. He had been about to do something. Something important. What had it been? A tap at his window made him jump, and he sat up with wide eyes. Upon seeing his Master perched there, he felt a wave of relief, finally letting a smile flicker onto his face. His Master half climbed, half fell into the room, cursing as he accidentally knocked over one of the dead plants on Mairon’s windowsill.  
“Hey,” He said. His hair was in disarray, and Mairon reached up to tuck one of the strands behind his ear.  
“Hey.”  
“I know you said you were going to revise, but I got bored. Your parents aren’t home, are they?” Mairon frowned, glancing at the door. His heart pounded. If they got caught…  
“I don’t know. I don’t… remember much. Of today.” His Master’s face cleared in realisation, and he pulled Mairon close, resting the younger man’s head on his shoulder. Mairon trembled, and he realised that he was crying. This was a rather strange occurrence for him. He never usually cried. It was always a relief when he did. His Master was wearing a black trenchcoat, and the fabric functioned as a fairly comfortable, albeit slightly itchy, pillow. Mouse chittered in his arms, licking the salty tears from his face. The rodent’s nose was cold, and Mairon giggled, nudging them away. He wiped away the tears with the back of his own hand, sitting up in his Master’s lap. He couldn’t be upset properly when Mouse kept shoving their nose in his face. “Sorry.” He said finally. “This must be really weird for you. I used to be what, your Lieutenant? Now I’m just a strange kid. It’s weird for me, too.” Melkor shrugged.  
“I mean. It’s not like you didn’t have issues before. Although most of those may have been my fault.” He chuckled, petting Mouse’s head. The rodent chirped enthusiastically at this attention from their Master. Mairon knew how they felt. He sat in silence for a few moments, involuntarily scratching at his wrists. He should’ve probably worn a shirt with longer sleeves. Then he could fiddle with those instead of hurting himself. He sighed, pulling Mouse into his arms instead. The little rodent squealed with excitement at all the attention they were getting.  
“I was going to do something,” he muttered, stroking Mouse’s head. “Oh. Revise! That was it. I have a test tomorrow, don’t I?” His Master frowned.  
“You do. We had a conversation about it yesterday, remember?”  
“Yea, sorry. It takes me a while, after I feel your presence. It’s like it jumpstarts something in my brain, but I need a minute to reboot, y’know?”  
“Yea. That’s really interesting. We should do some experiments with that.” Mairon’s eyes widened, a grin on his face. He tapped his fingers against Mouse’s furry back.  
“Yes! That would be so cool!” His Master smiled fondly at the younger man’s enthusiasm.  
“Alright. I’ll think of something for this weekend. Now what did you want to revise again?” Mairon pulled one of his books out of his bag, the shiny red cover a delightful contrast against both of their dark clothes. There was a teasing light in his eyes. He handed the book to his Master.  
“How much do you know about french tenses?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melkor subsequently decides to outlaw the french language when he takes over the world <3


	5. Brand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo I hate this chapter, hence why it took so long to upload it.

Mairon stepped through the door, hanging his jacket on the metal hooks behind it. It had been a cold day by the standards of spring. Mouse immediately jumped down from his shoulder, scurrying forwards to touch noses with the other small creatures that had concentrated around Mairon, chirping with joy at his return. Melkor had a tendency of collecting them. He leaned down to pet the head of a particularly large wolverine. It snarled happily at him.  
“Leave the poor kid alone. He hasn’t even pulled off his gloves yet,” His Master drawled from the gloomy staircase. The creatures slipped away almost as rapidly as they had arrived. Mairon almost jumped. His Master had a nasty habit of materialising out of the shadows like some sort of gothic ghost.  
“You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day,” he said, standing up straight again. His Master laughed. He was holding an unlabeled, green bottle of a red liquid that could have been wine, blood, or anything in between, and took a sip, staring Mairon right in the eyes.  
“Well, maybe if you had less coffee I wouldn’t have to worry about that being an actual possibility.” Mairon tried outstaring him, but eventually his gaze dropped, a blush on his cheeks. He concentrated on pulling off his gloves instead.  
“That’s fair enough I supposed.” He stuffed the gloves in his pocket. His Master’s gaze wandered down to peer at the wounds on his hands, before darting back up to his face.  
“How did the test go, precious?”  
“It went well. I think I got everything.”  
“That’s good.” He held out the bottle with a grin, eyes glittering. “Do you want some? As a reward for doing well?”   
“Oh. I- I’m not twenty one.” His Master began to climb back up the stairs, and Mairon followed.  
“And? Weren’t you raised in Russia?”  
“Well, yes, but-”  
“Aren’t they famous for letting, like, five year olds drink vodka?” The stairs crawled upwards towards a long hallway, the walls swathed in darkness. Portraits of strange, mutated creatures hung on the walls, their eyes wide in agony. There was no carpet. Mairon could feel the comforting cool of the stone floor even through his boots. He loved this house. It was so bizarre, and old, and dark. Just the type of place a horror movie would take place in. He guessed so, at least; it wasn’t like he was allowed to watch horror movies. His Master guided him towards the bedroom. This was the only room, other than the living room, that Mairon was allowed into. He had asked if he could look in any of the other ones once, but at Melkor's furious glare he had fallen quiet. His Master dragged him into the bedroom, and flopped down onto the bed, tugging at Mairon’s arm. Mairon complied, and curled up next to him.  
“That’s a stereotype. Totally incorrect,” He said, following his Master’s curious gaze. “Is something wrong?”   
“So. I was thinking.” The older man turned to him, tilting his head with glee.  
“Oh dear,” Mairon muttered.  
“Shut up. So, I was thinking, y’know how all of my servants have a brand on them?”  
“Yea.”  
“Well, I wanted to give you and all my newer servants one too, but it would have been a hassle to try and make them again, and this time is significantly lacking in places that sell them for some reason, but then I remembered about tattoos.” Mairon frowned. He thought he knew where this was going.  
“And…?”  
“Can I tattoo you?”  
“Do you… know how to tattoo people?”  
“Yes. Of course. I worked in a tattoo shop for a while, before I gathered up enough power to just materialize money out of thin air.” Mairon considered this. On one hand, the thought of having his Master’s mark on him made him feel delightfully warm inside. There was always this nagging worry at the back of his mind, that his Master might decide that he wasn’t good enough, or that he really was crazy, and one day would simply abandon him. This would make him feel better. But then again, a tattoo wasn’t easy to hide, and if his parents found out…   
“I’m not sure. It’s not that I don’t want it, just that, well, in case Aule and Yavanna see it. I would get into so much trouble. And I have to go to these doctor appointments, for them to check if I’ve done anything to myself, and they make me strip down to my underwear. They’d definitely see it.” His Master took a sip from the bottle, setting it down on the bedside table, beside the flickering candle. The glass clinked against the metal.  
“We could do it on your thigh. Very high up your thigh,” he grinned, raising an eyebrow. Mairon gave him a look that could melt stone.  
“Really.”  
“Yea. It would be hidden by a pair of boxers. Perfect solution, if I do say so myself.”  
“Y’know, if you want to fuck me, you can just say so.”  
“Well, yes, that too. But also because it would work,” His Master said confidently. Mairon sighed, letting himself drop down onto one of the delightfully comfortable pillows.  
“Alright. Fine.” His Master grinned.  
“Oh, and by the way, I should mention; by working in a tattoo shop, I meant tattooing ancient Egyptians in 3000 BCE. So.”  
“I- excuse me? First of all, ancient Egyptians had tattoos?”   
“Yea. Of course.”  
“Second of all, I mean, as long as you think you know what you’re doing. I suppose it should be fine.”  
“Oh, yea. I was pretty good at it. Sit up.” Mairon did so, mourning the loss of the comfort of the pillow. “You need to take off your trousers,” His Master said. Mairon frowned. “Oh, come on, don’t be a pussy.” The younger man offered Melkor a long suffering sigh, but obeyed once again, stripping so that he sat only in his oversized shirt and underwear. Meanwhile Melkor was rummaging about in the drawer of his desk.  
“Do you even have one of those tattoo machine things?” He asked suspiciously, eyeing his Master. Jesus, this room was cold. The hairs on his legs were standing on end, and he clenched his teeth to prevent himself from shivering, trying to hide in the insufficient warmth his shirt provided him with.  
“No. I’m going to use a needle.”  
“You’re going to give me some kind of infection.”  
“What, so you’d prefer to be branded? Now be quiet.” Mairon shot his Master a look, but shut his mouth. The silence lasted only for a few seconds.  
“Can you light the fireplace?” Melkor groaned in annoyance.  
“Shut. Up.”  
“I’m going to freeze to death over here.”  
“You’ll be fine.” A part of him was glad that Mairon was complaining. It meant that he was here, not hiding away in whatever dark recesses of his mind he spent most of his time in. Melkor looked back over at the younger man. Mairon’s eyes shone with vexation as he made eye contact. “Fine,” Melkor muttered, and sent flames leaping into the fireplace with a wave of his hand. Mairon leaned into the heat with relief.  
“Thank you,” he murmured. Melkor watched him curiously. Though his eyes were usually a dull green, right now they shone with fire, and it wasn’t only the reflection of the fireplace. It made Melkor’s heart feel pleasantly full with warmth. He wished Mairon could always be like this, so cruel and full of life.  
“No problem.”  
“Are you going to stop staring at me and get this over with, or what?”   
“Oh, right. Sorry.”  
The tattoo needle was technically several needles soldered together. Mairon inspected it, frowning at his Master.  
“Is this gonna hurt?” He asked in a small voice, before hurriedly adding, “Not that I mind. I mean. It probably-”  
“No, it’s fine,” Melkor interrupted him. “Yes, it’ll hurt. Not too much though, hopefully.” It was easy to forget that Mairon was technically still only eighteen. This entire situation was… strange. Melkor preferred not to think about it too much. Instead he simply pressed a comforting kiss to Mairon’s lips. The younger man hummed appreciatively. “Don’t worry. I need to clean the skin first. Hold still.” He took the bottle of what Mairon had assumed to be wine, and pressed a piece cloth against the top, tipping it down to soak the fabric in whatever was inside.  
"Were you drinking pure alcohol?"   
"Yes." Mairon sighed. He had learned not to question these things by now.  
"Why is it red?"  
"I added food dye. So I could pretend it was wine and offer some to those dumb fucking charity people who keep bringing my doorbell."  
"That could kill them."  
"Yea? That's the point, isn't it?"  
"You offered some to me." His Master waved him away.  
"Momentary lapse of focus. I keep forgetting that you're in a mortal body now."  
"Yea," Mairon said, a little shakily. "Remind me not to accept anything you offer me again."  
"That's probably a good call." Without waiting for a further response, his Master wiped the cotton along Mairon's thigh. The younger man gasped, fidgeting. The alcohol was cold. His skin burned, and he gritted his teeth as he waited for the cool burn to dissipate. "Now _actually_ hold still this time. You'll ruin it if you don't." His Master poured some of the alcohol onto his hands, too, using it as a makeshift hand sanitizer. He then took the needle. Mairon watched him. "Um. You might want to look away," his Master said.  
"It's fine."  
"Alright, if you say so. Don't faint on me now though." Mairon laughed.  
"Oh, please. I'll be fine." His Master dipped the end of the needle in a little vial of dark ink, and gently poked it into the younger man's thigh. Mairon felt slightly nauseous upon seeing the ink spreading under his skin. He looked away, his cheeks heating at his Master's snicker. "It's different when I'm the one it's being done to," he insisted. He saw his Master raise one eyebrow, out of the corner of his eye.  
"You wouldn't have minded before. Although I suppose that you are still but a teen right now." Mairon frowned.  
"I'm not."  
"Technically no. But you also sort of are."  
"Can you just get on with the tattoo, please?"   
"I see I've hit a sore spot." His Master grinned, much to Mairon's mild annoyance. But he’d already been pushing the line today with all his protesting, so he merely sighed, and leaned back against the back of the bed, blowing strands of hair out of his face. He wished that he had a hair tie. He never usually wore his hair down, but his Master had insisted this morning.  
The tattoo process was painful. Mairon didn’t mind; he just closed his eyes, head resting against a pillow, and ran math theorems through his head. It was a good time to revise. Math was one of his favorite subjects, anyway. It just made so much _sense_ , so ordered, and logical. He hummed happily. The fire had heated up the room, and its golden light flushed his skin, the warm air feeling like being covered in a heated blanket.  
“Can I take off my binder?” He asked after a while had passed. “I’ve been wearing it all day.”  
“Uh, sure. Go ahead.” He did so, breathing in and out in relief. His Master was looking at him curiously, and he returned the older man’s gaze.  
“What?”  
“How do you feel about gender, precious?” Mairon frowned.  
“Gender? I dunno. I’m pretty sure I’m a guy, but…” he trailed off.  
“Not always, though? Sometimes you want to look like a girl, or somewhere in between, right?.”  
“Yea. I guess so.”  
“That’s a characteristic of Ainur. Most of us have a preferred form, but we switch between physical genders all the time. It’s only a concept that the elves introduced us to.” He laughed, tracing circles on Mairon’s thigh in a way that made the younger man shiver. “I’d be more worried if you weren’t like that.”   
“What about… non human shapes? What if I sometimes want to look like that, too?”  
“Oh yes. You used to shapeshift all the time. I have no doubt that you’d feel constrained now that you can no longer do that. Do you remember?” Mairon nodded. So he wasn't some kind of freak, after all.  
“I… I remember a little. I think. It’s sort of blurry.” He frowned. “Will I ever be able to do that again? Look however I want?” He had always felt _trapped_ in this body, and the thought of finally being free made him want to run for joy. But to his disappointment, his Master frowned.  
“I don’t think so. Not yet, at least. You have a mortal body, currently, but when you die I can give you your old form back.”  
“After a _lifetime_?” Mairon blinked back tears. His Master climbed up onto the bed, and kissed him, caressing his cheek with a gentle hand.  
“I’m sorry. I could always kill you now, but then you would be mine forever, and you could not go back to your studies or go to Uni. And I know how much you want that.” Mairon smiled sadly.  
“It’s alright. It’s not so bad when I’m with you, anyway.”  
“That’s good.” Melkor nuzzled the crook of his neck, then slowly pulled away, much to Mairon’s disappointment. The younger man whined. “I’m almost done. Then I can do whatever you want to you, alright?” That satisfied him, and he nodded.  
“Alright.” He fell back against the pillow, one hand resting over his head, engulfed in the ethereal sea of his hair. His voice took on a lighter tone. Melkor was relieved to see him blink away the tears. He hated when Mairon was upset; there was nothing upon this earth that deserved to put sadness into those gorgeous eyes. “Hurry up then,” he purred. “Or I might just fall asleep before you get to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. Vesper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this titled in my drafts as "Mairon learns about emo bands", so make of that what you will. This is the last of the clunkier chapters (aka me trying to remember how to write) though!

There were so many people here. It was all noise, and flashing lights, and the bitter smell of alcohol and sweat all blurred together. The scent made him feel sick. His Master had almost demanded that he come here. While Melkor evidently did greatly enjoy having Mairon all to himself, he also insisted that the younger man needed to get out more. And thus he had quite literally dragged poor, helpless Mairon to this gathering. Party. The sound of people talking was so loud, combined into a single thrumming roar that seemed to pound inside his head, turning his stomach inside out. Everything spun. His head reeled, and he stumbled, trying to swallow down the bile that rose up in his throat. It was all so incredibly loud. The smell was overpowering, a wave that dragged his head deep underwater so that he couldn’t breath, nothing but the scream and throb of streaming bubbles yelling in his ears. He clung to his Master, trying to cover his ears with his free hand, trying to _get away_.   
"Precious? What's wrong?" Melkor's voice sounded simultaneously too loud and as though it were coming from underwater. Mairon was dimly aware of the older man tugging him along. Each step made him tremble, the floor like nails against his feet, the air rushing past him as they walked yowling in his ear with horribly heavy breaths. There was the click of a door. And suddenly everything fell still. He opened his eyes shakily, pulling his hands away from his ears as though frightened that the pounding cacophony would return. It didn't. He found that he could finally concentrate on his Master's words.  
"Hey? Precious? Can you hear me?" He nodded, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie. Melkor had warned him not to wear something nice here, because it would no doubt get ruined, and at Mairon's hesitancy to offer up one of his own clothes, the older man had loaned him a hoodie. It was way too big. But it was comfortable, and it smelled like Melkor. That made Mairon happy. The sleeves were long and good for fiddling with, too. He nodded, still a little shocked. "Say something."  
"I'm fine. It's just; big crowds. A lot of noise. That shit sort of messes me up, it's just temporary though." His Master cursed under his breath.  
"Why didn't you tell me? I told you we were going to a party." Mairon flinched at the harshness of the words, taking a nervous step backwards.  
"Sorry. I- I thought that maybe I could handle this if I was with you. The same way you make all the numbness better." His gaze dropped to the ground. "I didn't mean to ruin it." His Master sighed. The accusation in his gaze had dissipated a little, and instead he tugged the younger man closer.   
"It's alright. You haven't ruined anything," he said, and Mairon smiled hesitantly. His expression quickly returned to a frown, however.  
“I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I thought all of this stuff would be gone whenever I’m with you. But it’s not… I still get overwhelmed, I still fall apart.” He sighed. “I wasn’t like this before, was I?” Melkor shrugged.  
“Well, you sort of were? Not this bad though. I wouldn’t worry about it; you can’t just expect to force a Maia’s mind into a mortal body and expect to get away with it clean. And even if it’s not because of that, I’m sure you’ll still be fine. You’ve always been able to deal with shit wonderfully.” He twirled Mairon around in time to the faint, trashy music that could still be felt thrumming in the room. To his delight, Mairon laughed, gazing at him with soft eyes. His head was slightly tilted, like a curious dog.  
“I suppose you’re right. After so long spent with my mind being so foggy, it only makes sense that things would feel like too much now. It’s just… a shame. I really thought I’d be able to handle coming here.” Melkor frowned. A million thoughts fluttered through his mind all at once, and he stroked Mairon’s hair thoughtfully. Eventually he found one that might work.  
“I could enchant you,” he said finally.   
“What?”  
“I could make it so that all the noises are muffled and quiet. Like you’re wearing headphones. Unless someone’s speaking directly at you, in which case it’d still be quieter than usual, except you’d hear them.” His words were laden with power, nudging the atoms of the universe to his will as he spoke. His eyes glowed dimly in the faded bathroom lights. Mairon couldn’t help but shiver. He had almost forgotten how powerful his Master was. It was an ego boost, if anything, to know that such a creature wanted his service.  
“That would be amazing,” he said. His Master took his hand, and hummed softly, a discordant tune that burned the air with the sickly sweet smell of acrid metal. Mairon felt something hot against his fingertips, and then it was gone, his Master’s eyes losing their glow and the lights returning to their full strength.  
“There,” Melkor said, “It’s done.” His voice sounded faded, but not especially strange. Just a little less painful against Mairon’s ears. He placed a hand on the door handle, but hesitated, glancing at Mairon. “Let me know if it works, okay?” Mairon nodded, and his Master opened the door. The muffled sound of music grew only tangentially louder. He could barely hear anyone speaking at all; it had all faded away to a pleasant murmur, like the trickling of a stream. He almost squealed, flapping a hand in delight. This was incredible. The smells were muted too, which was good because he couldn’t exactly say that he enjoyed the bitter tang of alcohol in the air. Not to mention the sweat. Melkor was looking at him expectantly.  
“Well?”   
“It works!” He could actually look at the people in the crowd. There were a lot of them, and they were all feeling something different, joy, disgust, regret, exhilaration. He shot Melkor a grin. “Thank you.”  
“Of course. I’m not incredible at this type of stuff, so come find me if it starts to wear off.”  
“Find you? You’re gonna leave me?” There was a slight tone of panic in his voice.  
“Yea, I gotta take care of something. I’ll still be in the house though, so your mind doesn’t glitch again. And I’ll leave you with a friend so you don’t just go back to standing in a corner like the antisocial nerd you are.”   
“I- I’m not-”  
“Oh, hush, I was joking.” His Master took his hand, and dragged him towards a lady who was standing in the corner, staring with quite a bit of disinterest into her drink. Her hair was dark, and miraculously even more of a mess than Melkor’s. It somehow matched her gothic makeup. His Master shoved him, albeit a little roughly, in her direction. He grinned, teeth a little too sharp to be entirely human. “Ves, this is Mairon. Take care of him while I talk to Gothmog, alright?” She opened her mouth as though to protest, but Melkor merely said, “Play nice.” and then he was gone, lost in the crowd. Mairon fidgeted anxiously. Ves glanced him up and down with a raised eyebrow.  
“So you’re Melkor’s newest whore, huh?” Her tone implied that it was a compliment.  
“Newest? There were others?”  
“Yea, of course. They’re not usually as young as you, though.” She took a sip from her drink, eyeing him with an unreadable expression. “Say, how did you get mixed up with the likes of him?” Mairon bit his lip, glancing at the ground.  
“It’s… complicated.” It really wasn’t. But he didn’t want her to think he was crazy within the first five minutes of meeting him.  
“So you’re one of them too?” She asked nonchalantly. Mairon almost flinched. Did she know?  
“One of who?”  
“The god guys? Oh, come on, if you’re dating him then surely he’s told you.”  
“I- um- yes. I am.” So she did know. Did Melkor just tell everyone? Though he had the advantage of easily demonstrated powers on his side; no one would dare disbelieve him after they saw him collapse an entire building with a wave of his hand.  
“Cool. Say, you haven’t seen Thuringwethil around, have you?”   
“You know her too?”  
“Yea, we’re fucking. Duh.”  
“Oh- that’s- um. Nice.” She shrugged, evidently of a differing opinion. They stood around awkwardly while Mairon glanced around as discreetly as he could, wondering when his Master would be back.  
“You don’t talk much, do you?” She said eventually, making him jump.  
“Sorry,” he said. “I. Um. It’s just been a while since I’ve met anyone new.”  
“It’s alright. Come, do you want to dance?” She dropped her - now empty - cup on the ground for the people around them to step on. Her hand in his was warm, human, and completely unlike Melkor’s freezing touch. She was almost a head taller than Mairon, although that may have just been because of her platformed demonias. Someone had changed the music, and though it sounded muffled to his ears, Mairon could still just about discern the beat. He twirled her about as Melkor had done to him, in time with the song. Her mouth was moving. Oh- was she saying something? He blinked, trying to focus on her. How far away had Melkor gone?  
“Sorry, what?”  
“I said, do ya like MCR?” To his relief, she didn’t raise her voice and make him uncomfortable as most people did.  
“MCR?”  
“The band. My Chemical Romance. Do you not know them?” He tilted his head, listening to the music. It wasn’t bad. Aule and Yavanna would never have let him listen to this, however. Perhaps he should ask his Master to show him some more interesting music that wasn’t just mainstream pop with the bad words bleeped out. He sighed at the realization of just how much he’d missed as a kid. It was unsettling, honestly. He couldn’t remember half his childhood, and the other half had been spent in a strange sort of disconnect with his body, a numb haze that meant he was only half there. She was looking at him, and he realised that he had forgotten to reply.  
“Oh. Um. No. This song is nice, though.”  
“Truly, you must be missing out. It may be cliche, but personally Depeche Mode are my favorites. Although no one can deny that MCR is also pretty great.” She grinned, swaying in time to the beat. Her canine teeth were sharpened similarly to Melkor’s except hers were fake.  
“Well. I can’t exactly say that my parents would’ve ever let me listen to this.” He wondered whether this was an appropriate amount of information to give to a total stranger. To his relief, she pulled a sympathetic face.  
“Ah, you pulled the short straw when it came to ma and pa, did ya?” He nodded. “Well, if you get the chance, definitely give some more interesting bands a listen. A little rebellion never hurt any one, after all.” Mairon wasn’t quite so sure whether that was correct or not, but he didn’t think it would be _rebellion_ , really. It was just a bit of music. No harm there. Agreeing to be taught by his Master had been far more of a bold move than just listening to different bands.  
“Well. I’m glad to see you two are getting along.” Relief shot through Mairon at the sound of his Master’s voice. He hadn’t been quite sure how to reply to Ves, nervous that he was going to take too long thinking of something to say and then it would all be awkward again. Somehow he doubted that she would’ve minded, however. She let go of his hand, turning to face Melkor with a flash of caffeine stained teeth.  
“Came to pick your whore back up?”  
“Haha, very funny. Now let the fuck go of him.” Mairon glanced down, at her arm that was still wrapped around his waist. He couldn’t deny that he had disliked the touch, but since, it was a major part of dancing with someone, he’d tried to ignore it. She didn’t move it now, even at Melkor’s insistence.  
“I’d say this is the prettiest one you’ve found so far,” she laughed, though the tone of her voice still carried an air of relaxed disinterest. “A bit quiet. Maybe I’ll have to steal him from you.”   
“Oh no, don’t even go there. You’re not getting your hands on him.” He snickered. “For free, that is.” Mairon stared at him in mocking shock.  
“Are you trying to prostitute me?”  
“Hush, precious. The adults are talking.”   
“If you’re going to sell me off, I should let you know that I’m worth at least my weight in gold.” Mairon said rather haughtily. If he’d been any taller, he might’ve looked down on both of them with disdain, but as it was now he could only really look up at them. He wasn’t actually that short. Average height, really. But Ves was wearing demonias, and Melkor, well- Melkor often chose his form with the specific intention of being taller than Mairon.  
“You weigh almost nothing,” his Master informed him. “It’s like lifting a puppy.”  
“A puppy’s weight in gold? That’s not all that much.”   
“Hilarious, but he is mine.  
“He said he didn’t mind.”  
“But I mind, and I’m better than you, so-”  
“There is no world in which you could possibly be better than me-”  
Mairon could not quite tell if they were joking anymore or not. After some further thought, he decided that it would be a hassle that he didn’t want to go through right now. He hadn’t touched anyone other than his Master with a clear mind before; he had no idea how he would react. Probably not very well. Besides, his Master clearly wanted to keep Mairon for himself. Ves had dropped the arm around his waist. Perhaps she had sensed his discomfort with it. Either way, it allowed him to begin to step away, slowly, so that they wouldn’t notice- Both of their gazes immediately turned to him. He fidgeted with the hoodie strings, heart thumping, eyes lowered.  
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to do it.”  
Ves laughed. “Oh no! We were joking. I don’t even like guys.” She rolled her eyes when Melkor stuck his tongue out at her.  
“You look tired, precious. We can always go home if you’d like?”  
“Oh- wait. I was gonna give him some songs to listen to.”  
“Ugh. You and your gothic music. I refuse to let him listen to that mumbly church shit.”  
“Oh don’t you dare-” They were bickering again now. Now that Mairon knew it was a joke, he was visibly more relaxed, humming along in time to the music. Their voices had been drowned out, since they weren’t talking to him or about him anymore. Perhaps he could come to like parties. He couldn’t deny that the music was good, and it was fun to try and get a read on all the people around them. Eventually Melkor nudged him.  
“Come on. Ves; I gotta bring him home before one am.”  
“Don’t think this argument is over.”  
“Oh, trust me. Till we meet again.” She waved goodbye, and Mairon waved back. Now that he knew she wasn’t trying to actually sleep with him, he decided that he rather liked her.  
“Will I see her again?” He asked Melkor, who simply shrugged.  
“Thuri brings her over sometimes. Or maybe I’ll bring you to a party like this again. Now hold still while I get rid of the enchantment.” He took Mairon’s hands in his, and hummed softly, eyes glowing once again. Suddenly the sounds and smells of the world drew back into sharp focus. Mairon flinched, pulling one hand away from Melkor to press it over his ears. “You alright?” He nodded, taking deep breaths.  
“Yea, sorry. It surprised me, that’s all.” Finally he pulled his hand away, smiling softly at his Master. “Thank you.”  
“Of course.”  
“I had fun.”  
“Good.” He leaned forward, and kissed Melkor. Melkor pressed him back against the car door, gasping softly when Mairon nipped at his lips. “Let’s not have sex in this car,” He murmured, pulling away momentarily. “We’ll both be in pain in the morning.”  
“I hadn’t pegged you as the type to possess such self control,” Mairon said with a grin, fluttering his eyelashes in mock innocence.  
“I never said to wait. Come.” He pushed the door open, tugging the younger man along.  
“Where?”  
“Behind my house.”  
“Behind your- is this your house?”  
“Yea.” Mairon stopped, looking up at the huge building in wonder.  
"How many houses do you own?"  
"Like twenty? I just create my own money, it's not that hard. Nowadays I just rent them out and I don’t even have to bother creating money anymore."  
“That’s… actually pretty smart.”  
“Uh-huh. I know. Now come- let me show you how to climb into the bedroom.” His grin was dreadfully, wickedly inviting, and Mairon had no choice but to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos are much appreciated <3


	7. Galadriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say that, upon hearing that Mairon was back, Galadriel decided that a quick return visit to Middle Earth may be required.

One of the people in the street was looking at him strangely. Mairon took a sip of his iced coffee, the cold freezing his throat. She appeared to be a lady, with long, golden hair, and a stern face. He watched as she reached into her pocket, and pulled out a knife. It was a plain looking knife. Similar to what you would see in a kitchen, a simple black handle with a metal blade. She began walking towards him. Her pace was faster than an average walking speed. Something in the back of Mairon’s mind screamed at him to run, but it was shouting through a fog. His mind didn’t even properly process its words until the lady was directly in front of him, brandishing the knife. He wondered where his Master was. Had he not been supposed to meet the older man here? Perhaps he was simply late. Something tugged at his scalp. He noticed that the lady had taken a fistful of his hair, and was yanking him along with her. He didn’t resist, because he didn’t want her to tear out his hair. That would be bad. The world around them darkened. Was this an alley? It seemed abandoned. The ground scraped against his feet, his entire body trembling for reasons unknown. Strangely enough, it was warmer here than in the rest of the city. Something about trapped air, probably. He did not mind a little extra warmth. The lady was saying something, he thought. He tried to concentrate but it was like listening through water, hazy. It made his head hurt. Evidently she must have realised that she was not being understood, because she tugged at his hair again, shouting louder. He flinched.  
“You! Do you know who I am?” Her words still sounded muffled, but Mairon thought that he could discern them now. He shook his head dutifully. “Do you know what you and your wretched lord did to my family? To me?” Was he supposed to know? He tried to remember, so that maybe she would let go of his hair, but there was nothing. He shrugged. This seemed to have been the wrong thing to do, because she tugged his hair again. There was something cool and sharp pressed up against his neck. The knife, he thought. He tried to look down at it, because he dimly remembered Yavanna cutting onions with an identical knife, but her hold on his hair wouldn’t let him. Perhaps he could ask her.  
“Where did you get the knife from?” His voice hurt his own ears. She made a horrible sound.  
“Are you trying to play dumb? Does it look like I give a fuck, because I will run you through-” He frowned. He wasn’t dumb. He couldn’t be dumb- no- he was smart, he had memorized all his textbooks, he-  
“M’not dumb.” She had an ugly expression on her face.  
“I am going to cut you into little pieces, and feed you to-” Had she even heard him? She had to have; this was important.  
“I’m not dumb,” he repeated, slightly louder this time. Her eyes made him cold.  
“I heard you the first time, and honestly I don’t care either way, because your screams will sound the same whether you’re dumb or smart.” She pressed the knife harder against his throat. Something warm and liquid trickled down from that spot; blood? He remembered reading something about wounds for biology class. He squirmed uncomfortably. The metal was really cold. He would prefer something warm, like fire. Suddenly the cold was gone, as well as the tug against his hair. There were blue and red lights. They made his eyes itch, and he frowned. He heard more voices. It all sounded muffled, but they weren’t yelling at him; no, they were talking to the lady. Something warm and large was put onto his shoulder, and he jumped.  
“Whoa- hey, kid. You alright?” A hand. It was a hand, he thought. He could discern the words with a little bit of trouble. Kid… was that him? He blinked. Yes, they were asking him if he was alright. He nodded.  
“She said I was dumb.”  
“Well, she also held a knife to your throat, so I wouldn’t take her too seriously, eh?” The guy laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. Mairon stumbled at the harsh movement. “Oh, that seems like a rather nasty cut. Here, come in the car with us, we’ll get you cleaned up at the station, alright? You’re lucky she didn’t seem to bother trying to prevent witnesses.” The station. Car. Witnesses. Were these police? Mairon remembered something, though the memory was all fogged over like a car window. Someone… his Master? Saying police were bad. He looked at the guy. Bad. This was bad. The alley walls were uneven, so he pulled away from the officer, and jumped up, scrabbling for a hold on the bricks. He found one, and pulled himself up. His arms shook. Up. Now it was flat; he must have reached the top. Air whipped about his face, cold and merciless. Below there was yelling. Someone was angry. He sat down on the top of the wall, hands wrapped around his legs, face pressed against his knees to shield from the wind. Cold. It was difficult to breath. He couldn’t- someone held his hand. He jumped, eyes wide, and almost fell off of the wall, had the hand not held him tightly. To his relief, when he looked up he was met with his Master’s icy eyes.  
“Thank fuck,” he murmured. His Master chuckled.  
“Well, that’s one way to put it. They’re calling the fire department, I think. You’d better run or you’re gonna be in heaps of trouble.” Mairon uncurled his legs, stretching the sore and frozen muscles. How long had he been up here? He glanced down the side of the wall. There was a rather large group of people down there now. He could see their mouths moving, but their words were whipped away by the wind. Not that he wanted to know whatever they must have been saying about him. Oh, god, what if Aule and Yavanna found out? He winced. His Master wrapped his arms around the younger man.  
“You’re frozen. You’re gonna get hypothermia or something.” Looking down was making him dizzy - surely he hadn’t climbed up all that distance? It must have been fifteen metres at least - so he pulled his attention back.  
“I’m not going to get hypothermia. I’ve been here for what, barely a minute?” His Master’s voice was gentle.  
“No, precious. You’ve been here for almost an hour.”  
“What?” Impossible. He remembered climbing up, and then he’d sat down, and immediately after his Master had come. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with tired frustration. He felt empty. Losing time; that scared him. It scared him everytime he glanced at his phone and saw that almost a week had passed when he’d thought that it’d only been a day. “Sorry.”  
“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just mad that you have to live like this.” His Master stroked his hair gently. “What happened, precious? You weren’t about to- uh- jump-” Mairon sat up, shaking his head.  
“Oh, no, definitely not. I saw this lady; she walked towards me, and she had a knife, and she dragged me over into the alley. And she was saying stuff about torturing me, and what I’d done; she must’ve been one of those elves you were talking about. And then someone must have called the police, because they arrived, and they tried to get me to come to the station with them, but I must’ve panicked because I fled up here. And, yea. Then you found me. After an entire hour, apparently.” His Master frowned.  
“Could you not have run from her? Or fought her off?”  
“I dunno. I just… didn’t think of it. I don’t think I felt scared, or anything at all. That’s just what happens whenever I’m away from you; my brain goes haywire.”  
“Yea. But in this case… You could have gotten hurt, precious.”  
“I know. I’m sorry. I’d do something about it, if I could.” He curled up closer to his Master, shivering.  
“We should go,” Melkor said, standing up and gently tugging Mairon up as well by the sleeve of his jacket. When the younger man stood up, a wave of dizziness washed through him, and he stumbled, almost tipping back. His Master caught him with a hand around his waist. “Whoa- you alright? Precious?” Everything was spinning. Mairon couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t have vertigo- what- what was going on- his heart beat thumped in his chest, and he clung to his Master’s arm. Eventually the world calmed down, the light headedness leaving him as abruptly as it had come. He stood up properly, trembling. His Master sounded concerned. “What happened? Are you hurt?” Mairon’s first thought was the cut that the lady had given him, but when he reached up to touch it, he found that it had already dried. It hadn’t felt like a big cut, anyway.  
“No. I- I’m not hurt.”  
“Have you eaten today?” Oh. Oops. Mairon winced. It had completely slipped his mind. Melkor sighed in frustration. “Fine. I’ll take you to a restaurant or something before you pass out on me. Mai, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”  
“I know. It’s not that I do it on purpose or anything, I just forget. It’s alright when you remind me,” Mairon said, closing his eyes. “M’sorry.” He really was.  
“It’s alright. I’m worried about you, that’s all,” Melkor murmured. He took his coat, and wrapped it around Mairon’s shivering form. The younger man pulled it close with appreciation glittering in his eyes. Melkor offered him a smile, before glancing down at the crowd still watching them. Such insignificant mortal fools. They were blocking the way down. Or… Melkor’s gaze alighted on one of the nearby roofs. It was within jumping distance, and he grinned, tugging Mairon along. “Come. Let’s get out of here.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short chapter, but I honestly had no idea how to make it longer. CW for Melkor being violent and Mairon's self deprecating thoughts.

Melkor was _fucking pissed_. He didn’t even know why, but some days the world just got on his nerves. It made no sense. There was no reason, no rational thought behind the itch of frustration that plagued his senses and made him want to rip off his own skin, want to crack the skulls of everyone who looked at him. It was an impulse, a fickle thing, like the urge to cut his own finger off every time he used a knife, or the need to touch all four corners of a table, or to run over the old man on the side of the street whenever he was driving. He needed…. to punch something. To hurt. To tear. When he entered the house, Mairon was there, curled up on the couch, writing in a book. And something inside of Melkor must have broken, all the effort he’d put into making sure his Maia was alright swept away and shattered, because suddenly it wasn’t Mairon that he saw there, but an object, a tool, his Maia, _his_ precious. He snarled at him.  
“What are you doing.”  
“Oh- I.”  
“No. What are you doing _here_. You don’t have a key.”  
“I- The window was open, and I felt kind of lonely-” Melkor slapped him.   
“You broke into my house.”  
“Master? What-” And Melkor’s hands were around his throat, lifting him up in an iron vice, squeezing so that its mewling voice could not invade his ears again.  
“ _You betrayed me_. You’re _useless_.” He could see his own eyes, a searing white light, reflected in its eyes. A grin slowly flickered onto his face. He swung his arm back, and threw Mairon as hard as he could. He hit the wall, and shattered, collapsing onto the ground with shivers.   
“Master- what on earth- I would never-” His voice was a strangled whimper. Melkor strode towards him.  
“Silence!” he shouted, and Mairon choked, his vocal cords twisting and tearing so that he could not speak. His breathing was panicked, stricken. Horrified. Melkor hesitated for a moment. What was he doing? Mairon took advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration to gasp out something that sounded vaguely like an apology. He was trembling. Melkor raised a hand towards him, and he flinched back violently, unable to prevent the tears from filling his terrified, wide eyes. "Woah- hey- I didn't mean-" Melkor attempted to say, but his voice trailed off when he realized it wasn't having much effect. Mairon was staring at him like a caged, wounded animal, ready to fight tooth and nail for escape. Melkor clicked his tongue softly. The rage had left him all at once at the sight of the younger man’s terror. Ah. Fuck. He had lashed out again, after promising himself that Mairon would no longer be the outlet for his anger. He sighed. “Precious? Are you hurt?” To his relief, Mairon shook his head. “I didn’t mean it.” Melkor said. “I was just mad because… well, I’m not quite sure why. For no reason. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Mairon didn’t reply, just continued staring with wide eyes. “Should I leave?” He got a nod in response to that. Damnit. Melkor had no idea how to fix this, so he just backed away. Perhaps leaving the younger man alone for a while would help. “I- I’m sorry,” he said, more than a little helplessly. Mairon just shrugged.  
“Go,” he just said, and Melkor did.

-

Mairon was pretty sure one of his ribs was broken. The pain was excruciating. There was the taste of blood in his mouth. But worst of all was the rapid beating of his heart, the fear, the absolute illogical irrationality of the entire situation. He could ignore the pain. But his Master’s words pounded on the inside of his skull. Useless. He was… useless. So he did not speak of his pain, because perhaps, perhaps he deserved it.


	9. Bad Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning because this is where the 'Past abusive relationship' tag comes in to play.

_The floor clicks beneath his heels. His cape swirls behind him, a shadow of fire. His Master watches with unreadable eyes as he comes to stand before the Vala.  
“My Lord!” He cries, and his gaze flashes crimson. “I wish not to perjure your words, for you know of worlds far beyond my reach, yet I beg for your forgiveness!” Melkor is curled upon his throne, and it is as though a frill of ice flares about him in indignation.  
“Silence,” he snarls, voice dripping with hatred. His pupils burn white, and Mairon has never seen such an empty light as this one. “Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth; who has failed so utterly in their duty to allow you to come here? I should rip out your eyes.” It is then that Mairon realizes that he has made a grave mistake, and he steps back, his heart beating dreadfully. He answers not. This only enrages his Master further, and the air in the room blazes with a cold that makes it painful to inhale. Mairon trembles.  
“I plead for your forgiveness, my Lord! I- I thought-” What had he thought? That there had been a mistake? That the orc who had come to accuse him was lying? There would be no mistakes under Melkor’s iron gaze.  
“I said _silence _.” His Master’s expression is none that Mairon has seen before, filled with light, only light, overpowering and consuming his beautifully dark soul. Mairon falls to his knees, panting in fear; for it is fear that runs through his veins now, screaming at him to run, though he is rooted to the spot by his Master’s invisible chains. Melkor slinks towards him, laughing. “You thought that you could appease me? That you could convince me that your betrayal is a false rumor? You evidently take me for some naive fool. It is clear that you have not looked upon yourself in a mirror.” He is so close to Mairon now, and his fingers run through Mairon’s hair, the weight of his steel claws comfortably reassuring . Mairon weeps silently, not for what he knows is coming, for that he is certain he deserves, if not for the reasons his Master claims to lay bare. No; he weeps at the thought that Melkor could ever think, even for a moment, that there is anything but unadulterated loyalty within his heart, anything but love and worship. He collapses to the stone ground, prostrating himself at his Master’s feet.  
“It is not so!” He cries, and his voice trembles. “I serve you, utterly and truly; no, there is no room for dishonor within my heart. I belong to you, and you might do what you want to me, for I exist for naught but your pleasure!” Melkor kicks him, the tips of his boots sharpened to a point and iron capped. The force throws Mairon across the room, and his back cracks against the wall. He lies in a crumpled heap in the corner, and is still. He can bear the pain, but his Master’s eyes are filled with madness, and that light burns more than any wound ever could.  
“Did I not ask for silence? Did I not command you to keep your mouth shut?” His voice is nigh a scream, and the air in the room combusts, burning the clothes off of Mairon’s skin and melting through his flesh. He weeps, shaking, trying to prop himself back up on broken limbs. Melkor strides towards him with inhuman speed, and slaps him back to the floor, one boot pressing down on the back of his neck. Mairon chokes, his nerves on fire, every atom of his being begging him to get away. But he cannot. He swore himself to his Master, knowing that the Vala would not be gentle. He does not regret it, now. Melkor does naught without a reason. Thus, Mairon must have done something to warrant this, though his racing mind cannot think of a reason under the choking waves of adrenaline. His neck cracks like a doll at Melkor’s slap. His eyes flicker closed in submission as he spasms with pain.  
“Aye, my Lord! Please, I beg you; I did nothing that I was aware of, I would never do such a thing with knowledge; it must have been a mistake!” He groans. Melkor motions towards him, and he flinches away, weeping dreadfully. “No, a mistake! I love you, I worship you!” There is a heat in his skin, and he hates himself for the way he reacts to his Master’s touch, no matter how violent, no matter how cruel. Melkor is evidently displeased as well, for his gaze flickers across Mairon’s body, and he sneers, giving him another kick. Mairon moans, pressing his forehead to the ground, doing everything he could possibly do to make himself appear less, appear inconsequential, appear as nothing more than a pawn under his Master’s service, for that is his only purpose in life. He is curled up like a dog. Melkor lifts his foot over Mairon’s neck, and his eyes glitter empty.  
“Truely, what a miserable creature you are; licking at my feet like one of your mutts. A mistake, you say? You should know that I tolerate no mistakes!” His voice rises to a scream, and he brings his foot down. Mairon screeches with him. “No, nor lies! You lie, you _lie _to my face! You have betrayed me! You left me with_ nothing _!” He weeps in anger, grinding his heel against Mairon’s spine. Mairon thrashes about in agony, then suddenly he collapses into stillness as though shot midleap. The light in his eyes has burnt out into nothing but falling embers. Melkor scoffs at his lifeless form, stepping back in the same way one might step away from a mosquito they just squashed. His eyes are luminescent. “Wretched creature,” he mutters in disgust, and turns to walk away. Mairon will be fine. He always is. And if he isn’t…. well… that’s simply not a possible option. He’ll be fine. He deserved this. In the dark, gloomy corner of the throne room, Mairon’s heart barely beats._

Mairon opened his eyes. He felt sick, covered in sweat, _trapped_. His Master's arms around him hurt, those same hands tearing at his flesh just moments ago- he stumbled out of the bed, legs wrapped in the sheets, nausea clutching at his stomach. He fled to the bathroom, clutching the sides of the sink, and vomited, shaking because it _hurt_. Once he had stopped heaving up bile, because there was nothing else in his stomach ( _fuck_ , his Master was going to be so disappointed in him for forgetting to eat _again_ ) he slid down to the ground, sobbing silently. The cool floor felt pleasant, and he pressed his cheek against it, trying to breath so that he didn't start hyperventilating like he so often did after such vivid nightmares. To his relief, he managed to keep himself under control this time. Alright. It was over. This was reality. His palm was splayed out across the cold ceramic tiling, his body curled up like he'd been in the dream. He slowly tried to get up. Tears still dripped from his eyes, and he doubted he could control them if he tried. He took deep breaths. In, out. He was here.

He'd never had a nightmare like… that… before. At least not such a clear one. It rocked him to the core; his Master was supposed to be _good_. Not like this. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop trembling. The memories were coming back, all at once. And these were the only memories he wished that he could forget. His Master, hands dripping with blood, _Mairon's_ blood, his hand between Mairon's thighs, a knife, biting at his lips, a drug induced haze as he choked down leaves because his Master would kill him if he didn't, the snap of a whip, the _pain_. Mairon moaned in agony, clutching his head between his hands. No- Melkor was everything- Melkor was perfect- Melkor was a god- Melkor was… was the reason Mairon flinched whenever someone touched him. Was the reason Mairon couldn't let himself believe that what had happened to him might have possibly been _wrong_. Was the reason Mairon had thrown his life away for a lord who had not cared for him. Did his Master care for him now, he wondered? He knew what answer he wanted. He also knew the answer he deserved, the realistic one. Of course, he could always actually ask Melkor… the thought made him feel all cold inside, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. He couldn't face His Master. Not like this. Couldn't look into those bright eyes- he shuddered. Someone. He needed- someone- _anyone_ \- he blinked, suddenly standing outside Thuringwethil's door. He didn't remember walking here. Didn't even register that his hand was on the door handle, that he was turning it, that he was opening the door- Ves looked up sleepily. Thuri did not usually sleep in the bed, instead preferring to hang upside down from the rail screwed above, but now she was perched beside Ves, watching the other lady sleep. She looked up now as well, her fangs gleaming in the yellow glow of her eyes.  
“Mairon?” Her voice rasped. Mairon trembled.  
“I-” he swallowed hesitantly. Thuri seemed to understand, though. She dipped her head, luminescent eyes blinking, inviting him in. He relaxed, creeping forwards to curl up beside her. She wiped away the tears on his cheeks with a claw. Ves rolled over to give him space to lay between them, still half asleep, without enough energy to question his presence. Thuri, however, tilted her head curiously.  
“What’s wrong?” She asked roughly. He shook his head, burying his face in her lap, trying not to cry again. She stroked his hair. “A nightmare?” Her voice softened at his nod.  
“It- it was Melkor- he-” his voice trembled, and he sobbed silently.  
“Oh. Do… do you remember now?” He nodded. Thuri pulled him into an embrace, resting his head on her shoulder so that his tears tarnished her blood stained nightgown. “That must’ve been a huge slap in the face,” she murmured. “We’ve got you. Hush. Sleep.” Her words were laden with a tranquilizing lilt, the same Song she used to lure her victims into her clutches. Mairon’s eyes were heavy, and he closed them. His breathing slowly evened out. Thuri stroked his back, as gentle as her claws could be, until she sensed that he had fallen asleep. Ves blinked up at her.  
“Is he alright?”  
“Yes. I think so,” Thuri murmured, gently setting him down between them. His eyelids fluttered, and he shifted, whimpering. Ves frowned, leaning over to try and hug him. Thuri pressed a finger against her forehead. “Maybe don’t touch him,” she said quietly. Ves’ eyes glittered with curiosity, but Thuri shook her head, not wishing to explain further.  
“Alright,” the younger lady murmured, and lay back down beside him. Thuri curled up on his other side. She had watched over him many a night before. It was almost comforting to be able to do it again. But this time she wasn’t alone. She smiled awkwardly at Ves, her fangs clumsy in her mouth. Ves smiled back, burying her face in the pillow.  
“Goodnight, bat,” she said with a yawn. Thuri dipped her head.  
“Good night.” She did not go to sleep just yet. Her eyes were fixed on the door. She was waiting.

It took less time than she’d anticipated; a quarter of an hour, perhaps. The door handle clicked, and opened. The Master’s icy eyes flashed in the darkness.  
“Thuri?” he whispered. She bared her teeth.  
“He’s here.”  
“Oh- thank fuck.” He made as though to walk forward, but Thuri held out a furry hand. She would never dream of commanding the Master to do something, other than when it came to this.  
“It would be best,” she said, “If you did not touch him.” Melkor stopped. His eyes were filled with an unusually soft emotion at the sight of Mairon’s sleeping form. He frowned.  
“Why?”  
“He had a nightmare. Can you guess what about?” And if there was a sharp hint of accusation in Thuri’s voice, then, well; the Master deserved that much. Melkor stood still.  
“Oh.” She was relieved to hear the guilt in his voice. So he did regret it. Finally. Took him long enough. “Will he be okay?”  
“I think so. Maybe just… stay away from him. For the next couple of days.”  
“Right. Yea. Of course.” He made as though to step out of the room but then hesitated. “Could you make sure he eats breakfast tomorrow?” He asked softly. Thuri nodded, surprised. The Master was not supposed to think of such things.  
“I will.”  
“Alright. Good. Thank you.” He seemed unsure, then spoke softly, so she almost did not catch it. “Tell him that he’s allowed to be mad at me.” Thuri tilted her head in confusion.  
“Are you sure-”  
“Good night, Thuringwethil.” He cut her off, and shut the door with a muted click, leaving her brown eyes the only glow in the room. She frowned. The Master was not the same. However, she believed that this might be a good thing. Perhaps the smaller Master- just Mairon, now - would finally be able to have the life he wanted. She snuggled up beside him, flaring out her ragged wings as a protective sort of cover over him, and licked his cheek fondly. He tasted just as sweet as he had before.

-

Melkor caught him that evening.  
“Hey, Mai? Do you have a moment?” He hesitated, then glanced at his watch.  
“I’m late.”  
“Late where?”  
“Well I… I was thinking I could maybe…” his voice wavered at his Master’s curious gaze. “I could maybe… sleep in my own bed tonight… at home...” his words melted into timid quietness. For a moment he was certain that his Master was going to snarl at him, but he just nodded, his expression unreadable.  
“Alright. Then go. Sleep well, precious.” Mairon offered him a hesitant smile.  
“Thank you. Um. Yea. Good night.” Stupid. Fucking stupid. One nightmare- it had been one fucking nightmare. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly, and picked up his bag. His Master deserved better than this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this hurt to write hehe


End file.
